


The Lady of Dol Guldur

by SharkSinger



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Asshole Thranduil, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Thranduil, Dom Thranduil (Tolkien), Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Love/Hate, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Consensual Touching, Overprotective Thranduil, POV Thranduil, Post-Canon, Post-War, Post-War of the Ring, Prison, Protective Thranduil, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Tragic Romance, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkSinger/pseuds/SharkSinger
Summary: The war of the ring is over, and Sauron has been defeated. Amongst the ones left behind are Anquale, long since corrupted and recently freed from the influence of the Dark Lords. Willfully surrendering to her mortal enemy, the King of the Wood, she finds herself at war with herself. Will she ever find out who she was? And will she find peace in spite of her past?
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf & Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil, Original Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Sauron | Mairon/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 117





	1. Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [La Dame de Dol Guldur – traduction de The Lady of Dol Guldur par SharkSinger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001454) by [aewinalin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewinalin/pseuds/aewinalin)



> I have done my best to tag this as explicitly as possible. This is my first time posting a fic, so I am welcome to feedback about tone, grammar, and whatever other comments you may have. There is a lot of symbolism in this work, which I will do my best to explain in the notes as I go.  
> Please note. I have tagged certain elements that are not present yet, as the worst is yet to come for our dear main character.

She didn't know how many years had passed without seeing sunlight. Anquale knew what she was, a harbinger of death, a witch, a creation of Sauron. It was a shock they hadn't killed her yet. Her very name meant agony to these people. The King of the Woodland Realm must be feeling ambivalent about the best way to deal with her. She was first brought before him with her hands bound and mouth gagged, which stopped her tongue and hands from fight but prevented her from defending herself.

"Do you know why we must take such precaution? The stories that are whispered of you from those who beheld you in glimpses on the battlefield?" King Thranduil stretched languidly on his throne, a distracting beacon of light amongst the shadows of his cavernous hall. 

She did, of course. If the High Nazgûl was king, she was queen. With wings of toxic mist and ash and arrows of fire, she would inspire lust and terror from men who beheld her. Never mind that half of it was exaggerated. All she could do was nod and murmur through her bound mouth.

"So what am I to do with you? Why haven't you died with your master? We've beaten back your fortress at Dol Guldur, and the necromancer has fallen. You have no allies, no nowhere to run. Yet you lingered on, and submitted without a fight." He mused, and waved his hand. "Let her speak."

Finally, she spit the silk from her mouth, and met the king eye to eye, blowing strands of black hair from her face. Her skin pricked with the threat of dozens of arrows aimed at her skin. "I am no abomination of Sauron, not in birth. I was an elf, like you," Anquale kicked her cracked lips, continuing, "But I was taken, and with Sauron's demise, I, too, am freed."

Thranduil arched an eyebrow. "What curse or bondage had he wrought upon you? I've no reason to trust the Lady of Dol Guldur. Freed?" He tilted his head back and laughed, white gold hair cascading down his shoulders. "You are anything but. You belong to me now, Spider Queen, and I shall not rest until I get my answers."

"I speak no lies," she pleaded, "You must believe me. I was taken. I don't remember anything about where I'm from. Only pain, as he performed dark sacraments on me." Her mind flashed to countless days screaming, days that turned into years of white hot agony. "You can strip me of these robes and see the marks of it yourself. They are no battle scars."

He waved his hand again, and her gag was replaced. "Take Lady Anquale below. I will see for myself." His eyes glinted, taking her in as she heaved and shook under the guard's rough touch.

\-------

For what it's worth, she pondered, what were the odds they'd ever believe her, much less show mercy? Her mind's eye winked, showing in a glance hundreds of years of cruelty she personally had dealt. The runes on her breast tingled with an itch that would never quite rest, harsh black against alabaster skin.

It was true, her crimes she had been charged with. How many lives had she taken? How many nights did she spend fighting the poison and bile in her throat before finally succumbing to her master's wishes? Her desire to live had always won out against her morals, shamefully, though there were scarce virtues to have examples of in the company of orcs. Fighting back would just make a slow, painful death, as it drained her of any desire to see another day.

Daylight. She'd hoped that maybe she would catch more than a mere glimpse of it, maybe from an errant window or on the ride back to the King's halls. Dol Guldur was shrouded in perpetual shadow, and more often than not, using the magic of the necromancer's shadow had rended the sun painful to her skin. But still she thought of warm beams caressing her face, casting away the harshness of her cheekbones.

Anquale fantasized about tangling her hair in the grass, soft and peaceful, and as she did from time to time, allowed herself a moment of fantasy like a village girl who dreamed of being a princess.

It was cut short when the metal door to the cell slammed open. Thranduil was accompanied by no one, she noted with surprise, though since she was shackled to the ceiling it hardly mattered. She was a threat to no one, suspended and weaponless. With a flush, it occurred to her that perhaps he intended to preserve her modesty, as he was about to inspect every inch of her skin. Mercy, indeed, she thought wryly.

Her dress was for battle - hardened black leather and chainmail to encase her flesh as securely as possible. It served her to be agile, had always held up under steel, and blended her seamlessly with the night. With a sickening feeling in her gut, she watched him. Anquale didn't want to feel defenseless in front of her oldest enemy, even if it was a former source of conflict - for the armies, at least.

"You mentioned scars. Where are they located?" She took only a moment to answer. "My back, between my shoulder blades. Below my collarbones. From the tip of my hip bones to mid thigh. My eyelids." He shuddered at the last one, as many did, uncomfortable with the idea of knives coming down towards the center of their sight.

"It seems I have a lot of ground to cover. Your voice seems to be improving - I'd wondered if the raspy quality was natural, or if there was melody to it. Though I wasn't expecting you to have a brothel-girl's lurid tone. I'm disappointed you're not deranged, or fanatical. It certainly puts me at more of an intellectual equal with you, which makes this seem more…" he didn't finish the sentence, but instead reached up.

His slender fingers made quick work of the laces. She could feel the leather loosening, and eventually giving entirely. Her shoulders were bare against the cool air of the caves, as was her back. She could hear the beginning sounds of fabric ripping, then her bodice loosened just enough for it to all tumble down in a wave of linen and chain link.

He took a step back. The King's face was behind her, so she couldn't see him, but she could hear a catch in his breath. "I know, they aren't pleasant or expected-" her words cut short as she felt his fingers on her, tracing the lines of her back and shocking the voice from her throat.

"You're cool to the touch, Lady Anquale. Is it the air, or are you truly some demented version of a nazgûl?" He finally paused at the marks that littered the upper part of her spine. "No, this is no stab wound. And not someplace you could inflict yourself. The edges are ragged, as if you were thrashing when it happened." He talked coldly, almost medically about it.

"You had wings, poisonous ones, made of some kind of Nazgûl sorcery. As I seem to recall, this is where they'd blossom from. What do these symbols mean?"

"I don't know. I never knew there was power like this in Middle Earth. I'd only heard of the sorcerers doing enchantments and the like. I don't even know what language it is. Please believe me, I'd take them off if I could."

"I do believe you," he said, startling her, "This looks… unnatural, and highly painful to scar so deeply after so long." 

He strode around to the front of her, and her shackles rattled slightly as she shifted under his piercing blue eyes. He stared for a long moment before reaching out and cupping a single breast in his hand, letting his other fingertips travel down to her waist. 

"You have an excellent figure, as is to be expected of a fighter. You're very strong - and your figure looks as if carved from the dream of a perverse human." Thranduil almost spat the second sentence, as if it offended him, and she could only watch mutely as he let his hands wander, taking her hips in his hands and squeezing bruisingly tight. A fingertip grazed her lips, taking in the bow-like shape before twisting a handful of her thick, silken hair.

"Your grace, I-" he cut her off with a shushing motion.

"I think I've seen what I need to see from all this. I'll have to study and ruminate on your markings. Rest assured, I don't believe you could be any threat to me."

\------

For hours afterwards, Anquale had felt somehow sullied in a way that the Necromancer's magic had never done. A few handmaidens had come to help her down, and they lead her away wrapped in robes, surrounded by guards, until they shooed them away at a large metal door.

"This is to be your chamber, Lady." One murmured, backing away with wide eyes, frightened eyes. No doubt she believed Anquale could kill her with her bare hands, or perhaps she had lost someone to her long ago.

The lock clicked into place behind her, and with disappointment, she realized there were no windows. It made sense, but still, she longed for even the slightest breath of fresh air. There was a room to bathe in, and a bed with gauzy canopies strung about it. The fabrics weren't strong enough to be of any use, and the mirror in her vanity couldn't be broken with mere fists, she quickly learned, though it was amusing she was provided one at all given her circumstances.

A long look in it told her everything she needed to know. She was flushed and robbed of her usual poise, and longed desperately for her armor back. Her full curves that she had once flaunted with abandon on the battlefield made her feel like a target, and she wanted to slice her hair from her scalp and mar her garnet lips from her face. His hands had explored her with such a lack of inhibition, and there would have been nothing she could have done to stop him from cutting her throat. She wondered idly if she could still do it herself.

But there was no way, as she had already learned from exploring her confinement. Dark gray, black, and white flashed before her in monochrome before she picked a night dress at random from the wardrobe. It stretched tight across her body, as if made for a woman more willowy than her, the skirt trailing behind her like a shadow.

There was nothing to do but wait, and hope her fate would be decidedly more positive than she hoped.


	2. Into the Fire

Thranduil was deep in thought in his chambers, his knitted brow and scowl betraying his annoyance. He wasn't sure what he'd expected the Lady of Dol Guldur to be, but the woman currently in his halls as prisoner wasn't it. She'd seemed tired of fighting, relieved to be in a time of peace, even though it meant her capture. On the day of the battle, she had came to him, throwing her bow and sword to the ground.

It certainly complicated his options. She seemed to have an air of remorse to her when she spoke, and she met people's eyes with a quiet resignation. This was not a woman who would beg in front of a crowd, or argue her own innocence before a council. Perhaps the dungeons would be a better fit, out of sight and out of mind, though he was not a fan of the idea. It seemed too akin to what she would expect of them.

His people would not like to see her, one of their own kind (as they whispered), go out with quiet humility in any kind of execution. This wasn't some Orc he could simply get rid of. Instead, they spoke of a mysterious beauty, cruel and tragic, freed from the Necromancer's shadow after hundreds of years, who remained unbroken by the ordeal. Was she too far corrupted? Was she restored to goodness? Who knew?

A knock interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."

"Father, I wish to beg a favor from you." It was Legolas, who had returned from his adventures in the war. "This prisoner of yours, she is dangerous, and a brutal weapon. But yet, enough of our kind have died in this fight. Can't we use her as a sort of public figure to them, show them the terror of the shadow is gone for good?"

His son's eyes beseeched him to avoid more bloodshed, and Thranduil was tempted to agree. "Not all will be happy that she avoids judgement this way, Legolas. Do you really think she could exist in harmony with the ones she has long sought to eradicate?"

"I am tired of spilling blood, father. The war is over, and it is time we started healing and rebuilding rather than sacrificing more lives." Legolas stared him hard in the eyes, adding, "Do you really believe her to be guilty of the sins the dark lord forced upon her?"

Thranduil closed his eyes, seeing her before him once again. She was like a snake, ready to strike, full of tightly coiled fear. There was no desire to cause harm to anyone in those eyes, only the desperation to not have her life end at his hands, which he couldn't stop from putting on her body.

"And of her punishment?"

"Isn't a life of locks and guards enough for one who lives for so long?"

\------

"Lady, you've been summoned." 

After almost two weeks of nothing but her own thoughts, Anquale accepted, feeling a bit like a wilting plant in a drought. A dozen guards surrounded her, promising a quick death if she acted out of turn, even as her hands were shackled securely. They led her through the halls and over stone bridges, eventually reaching a door that opened into a vast clearing.

Eyes wide, she took in the gardens, softly lit by an abundance of moonlight. It was surprising, as she often had no idea how to gauge the time in her cell-like room, and she'd expected it to have been closer to morning. Willows sighed in the breeze, sweeping their branches over beds of daylilies and lavender, with creeping ivy filling the gaps. Thranduil was waiting in a gazebo, awaiting her approach, a hand stroking his chin.

"Your Royal Highness, may I present Lady Anquale." The soldier bowed deeply.

"I must admit, though I personally prefer white, black does suit you." He rose from the wrought metal bench he had been reclined on and circled her for a moment, sizing her up with his eyes.

A thrill of nervousness raced down her spine as she remembered the crushing grip of his hands, and the cold detachment he wore while he did it. He had the same dismissive, yet possessive look in his eyes now. "Thank you, your majesty."

"There is to be a grand ball to celebrate the end of the war. My subjects have grown restless, wanting to see the Lady of Dol Guldur in all her glory, kneeling to the King of Mirkwood." He rose and started towards her, saying, "Yet you have yet to kneel to me. Plead your story of events be believed, yes, but subjugate yourself you have not."

"It would mean I am one of your subjects, which I am not. I am your prisoner." She replied, hanging her head and avoiding eye contact.

"To your knees, now."

She hadn't been expecting him to ask, and she swept to the ground, her skirts a rustle of silk and the whisper of velvet. "King Thranduil, if you would allow it, your mercy on me would prove an invaluable ally in fighting back what remains of the corruption in this forest, and securing it for many years to come."

He stood before her and reached for her chin, raising her face up to look at him as he seemingly ignored her words. "Yes, darkness becomes you quite well, I believe. Look at that hair, black as a moonless night. And your eyes are an arrestingly dark shade of violet. Those markings on your skin make you seem an exotic sorcerer's treasure, or a scholar of magic's dream project."

His thumb ran over her bottom lip, and he crouched down to be at eye level with her. "What would it be like, I wonder, to see you strolling the garden, harmless to me as a passing crow? To see that fire in your blood put out, replaced with dewy adoration for your liege? Are you even capable of serving to my will?"

Anquale swallowed, knowing he could feel her pulse race. "Sir, I mean no disrespect by my countenance."

He smirked, pulling her to her feet. "Sit, talk with me." She let out a small gasp as he did so, still unused to his assertiveness with her body. No person had ever had her like this, and she couldn't help but feel like he was pulling the strings within her like a puppet.

He sat her so close she could have been laying across his legs if she chose to. Anquale was wholly untrained for etiquette with royalty, and had certainly never expected they would be so heavy handed with her. She had never met with kings, only read of them in bloodstained texts brought back for her by orcs trying to curry favor.

"Don't be shy. Don't worry, a human king would have already shown his weakness to having a creature like you in his grasp. Elves have far more decorum than that."

\------

Thranduil breathed deeply, reveling in the smoky aroma that seemed to permeate her being. It was like pressed flowers and ashes, mixed with some heady amber he couldn't identify. It was difficult to reconcile the stories of the merciless battle maiden with the polite and breathtaking elf in front of him. He didn't like admitting it to himself, but she was right - she would be invaluable in striking confidence in the hearts of his troops.

"Do you know how to dance?" She seemed startled by his question.

"I have only seen it from afar, but never had an occasion present itself to me where I might partake."

He twirled the stem of his wine glass, sighing. "Then I do believe you must learn. You're to appear at the ball in a few month's time, escorted by myself, as my war trophy." He smiled at this, delighting in the concept. "You'll show all of the eldar that the Mirkwood is to be restored to it's former glory, that the evil fights us no longer."

Very suddenly, he put his drink down and dug his hands into her thighs, pulling her closer, daring her to look at him. "Just like now, dozens of my men will have their eyes on you. Unless you plan on a painful death, I'd suggest doing exactly as I say when that time comes."

He leaned in and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, admiring the translucency of her pallor. He felt her breath hitch in her throat and it made him smile as he watched her cheeks flush with embarrassment. However, her skin beguiled him, as lacking in warmth as a statue.

\------

There was a certain terror in being at the mercy of Thranduil's whims. This was a king who was used to doing what he wanted with people, and did not take opposition lightly. It would be foolish of her to resist, given her rather hopeless situation. For the first time, she thought of leaving the forest, going places far away where men and dwarves were said to wander. She had never seen the world aside from how it looked on battlefields, in the rare instance she would leave the forest.

After all, none would know her but for the scars on her eyelids if she dressed properly, and most would take her as a wandering huntress. There were many places to run in Middle Earth, and some had to be far out of the reach of elves. Thranduil seemed to sense the unrest in her thoughts, startling her from the reverie she had allowed a moment's indulgence in.

"As I seem to be making the misguided decision to allow you out of your confinement, I'll train you myself. No one else is trained in both dancing and the combat necessary for any unfortunate situations that may occur if you get delusions of slipping away." He stood suddenly, pulling her to his feet.

He was far taller than her, and a faint twist of her arm showed her that he was far stronger than she was, as well. Maybe on the field of battle she would have the advantage, but not here, in his gardens, disarmed and forced to dance. One arm went to her waist as he slowly began showing her the footwork of some kind of waltz, making up for what she lacked in experience with his own elegance.

With fluid grace he lifted her arms around his neck, which caused her to be pressed up against his well muscled chest with her shackles rattling their protest. This was the closest she had every been to anyone without one of them trying to kill the other. It was disorienting, breathing the scent of incense and roses instead of blood and steel. His hands seemed to be reacquainting themselves with her, and he slid the material off one shoulder, baring it to the night. She could feel his eyelashes brush her skin as he inhaled deeply, like he wanted to bite into her, and it made her mind numb with fear.

"My Lord, I…" she was at a loss for words, gripping for dear life as she tried to keep her balance, not realizing the implication of so simple a phrase.

"My Lord, am I?" He laughed lowly and pulled her head back so she was forced to meet him eye to eye, his luminous hair brushing against her cheeks.

"Do you like the gardens? I could take you on a tour of them sometime. So long as you see me as your lord, your majesty and mercy, there is no end to what I can show you that Middle Earth possesses."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan, and into the fire. It becomes more and more difficult for the lovely Anquale to figure out the intentions of the King of the Wood, as his motivations are a mixed message. 
> 
> Her mind can't focus, and maybe Thranduil intends to keep her shaken to the core, second guessing his every move, too focused on defending herself to plan any counter. He is the chess master in these scenes, with every advantage on his side.
> 
> As always, I welcome your thoughts in the comments.


	3. The Pain of Yesterday's Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the longest chapters I'll probably write for this!
> 
> I'd like to warn you now that there is war related violence in this chapter. 
> 
> There is blood and somewhat graphic depictions of injury and death.
> 
> This chapter also serves to show that even though the relationship Anquale has with Thranduil is dysfunctional at best, they have no doubt both been grateful that it has not been very different. It could always have gone much, much worse.

Many days were spent in the King's library, pouring over maps of the forest and sketching diagrams, relaying what she knew of those who were still unwelcome in his kingdom. Some of these such talks would bring soldiers back from patrols triumphant and reeking of orc blood. Other times, he would shut himself away with his lieutenants for hours, coming back looking more frustrated than ever. These were the times he would have her stay awake through the night, guessing at their strategies and writing pages of notes until her hands ached.

When he was in good spirits, she would be twirling in his arms around the ballroom or in the garden. Anquale had become so attuned with how he moved that after so long she was synchronized to the slightest touch to direct her through the songs. Her unease was starting to fade with time, and she found herself becoming used to his presence, though never accepting of his entitlement to her. Often, he would still brush against her chest, or run his fingers over her hips or hair when she wasn't expecting it, sending shivers deep through her bones.

Before Anquale knew it, months had passed, constantly in the company of Thranduil. He never allowed her out of his sight when she was anywhere but her room, a constant, suffocating presence.

"Sit, Anquale. I'd like to see how these compliment you." She looked up from her parchment to see him twirling silver in his hands, looking at her expectantly. It was difficult to suppress the anxious energy she felt as she knelt in front of him, turning so her back faced him when he guided her so.

"What are they, my lord?" She angled her head back, trying not to jerk away when she felt his knees come to rest on each side of her shoulders.

"They're for your hair. I had them made to look like the branches of an oak tree." He murmured, straying a hand down below her collarbones as he clasped them in place. "They become you. One might say that we compliment each other now."

She straightened, taking the mirror he offered her. They were reminiscent of his crown, adorned with golden leaves and finely jeweled berries. It was autumn by now, so not the time for flowers, and the uncanny resemblance made her want to tear them out.

"They're beautiful," Forcing a smile, she did her best to look flattered, asking, "Who are they for?"

The question seemed to offend him, and he sighed, resting his head on a balled fist. "They're yours, of course. You've aided me in winning a great many victories lately. They're a token of my appreciation."

She bowed, swallowing the bile in her throat. It threatened to spill over on her expression as she played the part of his doll, on display for the pleasure of his piercing cerulean stare, which did precious little to hide his intentions. Her suspicions were confirmed when he beckoned her to come sit at his side, reclining her head into his lap with a gentle push. 

The king was interrupted when the door opened with a sharp clang, and he shot a venomous look at whoever had interrupted them.

"Your Royal Highness, forgive me, I meant not to intrude." A tall, golden elleth swept a curtsey, never taking her eyes off the pair of them, and Anquale's composed mask never slipped as she regarded her in kind. Thranduil sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"No, come and sit, Lady Carnen, I think the company of a real elleth of the court will do us some good. We have had far too little to clear our minds as of late." He brought his fingertips down to rest on the center of her stomach, tracing circles with agonizing slowness. "You can behave, can't you, Lady Anquale?" He asked softly, threateningly, and she inclined her head.

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Perhaps you might be able to teach her the rules of attending formal events one day. Alas, at the upcoming festivities she will be mostly forbidden from many activities. A mostly symbolic appearance." Thranduil cocked an eyebrow, gazing down at her with renewed interest, perhaps imagining what he would have her wear for it.

"She is to attend? As a guest?" Carnen's voice pitched, eyebrows arching with shock. "She is the most dangerous enemy in the wood!" The elleth looked at Anquale with open contempt. She saw every moment of Thranduil's torment of her, and from the jealousy in her eyes, it looked as if she would rather consider it a privilege.

"Not anymore, I'm afraid. With the necromancer gone, her strength could hardly best that of my court. Any show of force would swiftly cause her life to become much harder." He snapped.

Carnen narrowed her eyes and nodded. "It is as you say. Tell me, Lady of Dol Guldur, do you like the company of our king that you long sought to cut down?"

"I am grateful for the compassion he has shown me in lieu of most forms of punishment I could be enduring, yes. He is wise in many things, and I am humbled by his decision to give me a path to whatever form of atonement he sees fit." 

Thranduil smiled, briefly moving his hand off her stomach to pet the side of her face. The lightest flinch ghosted her features as he did. 

"I was always told that the prisons outside of our own were far worse places to be than dead, so I was relieved that my Lord has given me kindness." This statement seemed to come as a bit of a surprise to him, but he did not address it.

"So, how did it happen? The final battle? I've always loved hearing stories and legends, but never from the side of the enemy!" Carnen clapped a little, betraying her youth in years as she did. She was far younger than the ancient beings who she sat with (as Thranduil later informed her), having just turned 80 this past year, and seemed to desire to pick at Anquale's sore spots.

Anquale looked toward Thranduil for permission, who nodded. She had no desire to relive that day, but perhaps it would bring catharsis. In quick succession, the hours of struggle flashed before her in vivid color before she began.

\------

From the beginning, it had been chaos. The orcs were scrambling to get into position, and morale was low with their dwindling numbers. The last three times the elves had attacked, they were forced into retreat, each time with less troops.

Now, the forces of Mirkwood and Lothlorien were almost at the front gate of Dol Guldur, ready for slaughter. The Uruk Hai were lashing with their whips, roaring for the Orcs to move faster. Blood was falling, and the fight had not even begun yet. Such is the nature of Orcs. They crashed into each other, fighting and surging like the surface of the ocean during a storm.

Anquale watched all of this from the window of her rooms, tightening the braces on her wrists with an air of finality. She'd done well for a great many years, but she sensed that her time was up. The Nazgûl leader they all relied on for moments such as these had abandoned them, and they were all looking to her for guidance.

It was foolish. The orcs didn't even seem as if they cared about life or death, only meat and fire. How was she supposed to inspire an army that was fueled by hate and greed alone to fight against the odds? Feats like that were for men, who were motivated by hope and courage. To them, death was a certainty, something to either live in fear with at every moment or an eventuality to have peace with, and they lived with complete hedonism in their acceptance of fate.

Maybe she could just run, escape into the forest and never return. This didn't have to be her fight anymore.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, she fell to the ground, wailing and screaming. Her marks were searing into her, ripping the old scar tissue apart and cleaving her to the bone. Blood rushed from every last one, causing her to slip on the stone floors as she tried to crawl.

"Forgive me! I won't! I'll fight, I always have! Please, my lord, forgive me!" She wailed, her vision obscured by blood that streamed steadily into her eyes. She could feel herself getting dizzy, and started gasping like a fish. Then, it was over. They were just scars, and there was only the ghost of pain left.

Slowly, she got up, messily wiping the sticky red fluid from her chest and back so it wouldn't coagulate on her armor. Anquale was shaking, terrified that at any moment it might return like a cruel joke. Eventually, her sense of urgency overpowered her fear, and she started for the courtyard. There was no time for vanity, and she greeted her troops with twin lines of red streaking down the sides of her face. 

"There is no time to waste on formality!" She shouted, pointing out the gate, "Our enemy is upon us, and we to lose everything if you do not meet them! Go, and feast on elven flesh tonight! Do not come back without their skulls in your hands!"

It lasted for days. Days of gore and losses. Everywhere she looked, there were mountains of bodies, and after the second or third day it smelled of death no matter where she went. By the fifth day, the rotting stench became unbearable. There were simply too many to burn all of them every night, and the elves would often attack the groups sent out to bring the dead back.

It wasn't until the tides were turning against her that Anquale entered the battlefield. Screaming with rage, she twisted through the air, landing like a cyclone to drive her sword through the skull of one of many enemies. She had just enough time to dodge a volley of arrows that came her way, sprinting full force before launching herself over the shields of the enemy line.

Pivoting, her steel met the neck of an archer, and a knife came up to block a sword swinging for her face. It barely missed, so sharp the ends of her hair floated to the ground instead of her head.

"NOW! RUSH THEIR LINES!" Anquale screamed, and a rush of fire and heat exploded from the air around her, throwing the elven soldiers around her to the ground. The smell of burning flesh assaulted the battle lusted elleth's senses, and she screeched again, rattling the chambers of her enemy's minds with fear.

A soldier swinging a mace found purchase on her ribs, knocking her to the ground with a triumphant smile. It faded when she flung herself at him, driving her fingers straight into his eyes and tearing. He screamed, falling to his knees, and a swing of her sword went straight to the back of his throat.

Fingers wet with blood, she struck another, then as her back roared with energy, she let the mist eat away at the lungs of the next who came for her. She threw herself into the air, briefly observing the ring of scorched earth where she had stood, and plummeted deeper still into their lines, tasting the hot spray of blood as it spattered her face.

Straightening, she looked behind her and froze. A line of archers some four or five deep were preparing to aim at her, and behind them was their king. He was astride a massive elk, his armor gleaming. The king's hair gleamed a silver-gold that spilled down over his shoulders, framing his face, so beautiful and cold it could be written about in poetry. The bloodied elleth's skin screamed in agony just being caught in his beam, eyes wide as she struggled to breathe. Air came in short, choking bursts as she snarled wildly, shakily raising her sword.

Impassive, he brought a hand up. They readied their bows, the strings taut without a trace of uncertainty. The bright blue of his eyes found hers, and it felt as if her heart was being twisted in her chest. The world was silent and unbearably bright, as if she was losing consciousness without the darkness that came with it. 

Drowning. That's what it felt like. Gasping for air, with her limbs sluggish and her blood burning in her veins. He was coming straight for her, but she couldn't move, much less swing her blade. A whimper escaped her as he stopped a few feet away, reaching a hand out. Before he could touch her, something inside Anquale's mind snapped, and she was airborne.

It only lasted moments before pain screamed through her shoulder, making her falter sharply. A bone white knife protruded from her, and she started tumbling through the sky, trailing blood behind her in spirals. The ground met her faster than she thought possible, driving the tip down to the bone. She howled wordlessly, tears streaming from her face, barely able to find purchase on her knees before she was knocked down again by the pain of an arrow lodging in her thigh.

Roughly, she was picked up, and she recognized one of the Uruk Hai at a dead sprint to get her back to Dol Guldur. But he, too, was felled by arrows, and she was alone on the battlefield once again. Coughing, Anquale stood, using her good arm to pull the arrow from her. It slid free with a wet squelch, prompting a thick stream of blood. She did the same thing with the knife in her shoulder, panting and sobbing, tears leaving trails on her cheeks through the blood and ash that coated her skin.

It was over. Anquale could physically feel when the gates were breached, the last of her warriors crying out as they either fled or were finished. Terror gripped her, but she felt so cold and so very, very, weak. The Elvenking was coming for her, she could feel it, and before she could even think of escape there was a great tearing deep in the flesh of her back. Spinning, she shrieked, realizing there was only a great emptiness when she reached for her wings.

They were gone. She had entered the fray too late, against a force that they had no chance of defeating. Her whole frame was bent with agony, and as she looked up, she saw him. Panting, she threw down her weapons, raising her hands in the air as she fell to her knees in surrender. The last thing she was conscious of were his hands catching her as she fell, darkness encasing her mind.

\------

For a long moment, there was no one else in the room but Anquale and Thranduil. She was sitting up, staring directly into his eyes, but there was no pain in this action for her any longer. He had subconsciously put his fingers on the scar on her shoulder, his other hand stroking the mark where the arrow had embedded itself.

With a flutter, she realized his touch wasn't causing her to cringe away. If anything, it had soothed her in some perverse way to feel such tenderness as she remembered his knife digging down to her bones. There was only a gentle violence to his actions, a soft way of forcing her to remember it was him who defeated her, and no other.


	4. Tamed by the Sun

The one thing they never warn a lady about is how uncomfortable it is to be one. There are always many eyes ready for a slip in poise, or a stumble in grace. No one had deigned to tell Anquale about any of this, and thus it hadn't occurred to her that she would not be seen as a survivor of war, but as an exotic distraction from the revelries of the night.

The maids helped her dress, for the garment sent to her had too great a tangle of hooks and laces for her to put on by herself. Her robe fell to the ground with a sigh, even as Anquale dug her nails into her skin to hide her nakedness, bucking against the cold that permeated the air.

They circled, clipping and draping her body in grey silk mixed with strange, gauzy fabrics she couldn't name. Silver embroidery slashed down the plunging neckline like a shining wound, twisting to melt into the bodice. Sheer black material whispered from her shoulders and the folds of her skirt, floating around her like fog.

Anquale did not recognize herself in the mirror. Thin layers of beeswax held her braids in perfect order, and black pigments had been applied to her eyelids in measured brush strokes. The hair ornaments Thranduil had given her were pinned and twisted through her hair, a sharp contrast to having it loose and flowing from her skull.

Then they left, leaving her to stare at the stranger Thranduil's court had polished her into being. It was disconcerting, and she touched the scars on her chest in an attempt at reassuring herself she was the same elleth. The journey to Thranduil's chamber took her much longer than usual, tight fabric forcing her to walk in measured steps with her hips swaying.

"Well, look at this. You'll be the envy of every elleth there. You're like a star, surrounded by a moonless sky." Thranduil purred, and pulled her into his arms, swaying to a silent melody only he could hear. 

"I wish I had known… who I was, once. I don't have any memories from before." Her mind was wandering. Had she once worn silk dresses, and had dances with a beautiful ellon? Did he know what had happened to her if she had, or was he dead on the field of battle somewhere?

"I have been in Middle Earth for a long time, Anquale. I have never known of you until one day, you sprung from Dol Guldur, ready to clash swords with me," He sighed, "I have many theories about how you came into being, but it would behoove me to warn you that none are pleasant."

Before she could bring herself to ask, he let go, turning toward the doors. "It is time. Grasp my arm, and let me lead you."

They walked side by side down the hall, pensive and quiet. Distant sounds of music echoed towards them, and as they approached, a set of doors swung open to bathe them both in dazzling light. Candles and torches illuminated a wide clearing, decorated with tables heaped high with food and drink. There were already various elves dancing and laughing, but they grew silent when their king entered.

No one warns ladies of the silence of a crowd when she is disgraced, the deep shame of looking at your people and knowing they all fear and despise you. She clung to her king, trying to keep her head high in spite of it. 

He relaxed into his throne, and she sat at his feet, glancing over at his other side. Someone who must be Legolas was standing at his side, smiling with the dwarf she had heard so much about. Gimli, said to be his best friend from the war. The sight of them made her heart ache, and she looked away with a feeling of great sadness, confused at what was making her feel such strong emotion.

"My lord, I hope it is not too forward of me to say, but are you sure about having her here?" The elf before Thranduil was clearly crossed between anger and fear, leaning his whole body away from her as if Anquale would kill him then and there. Yet he spoke common, perhaps thinking it would enrage her if he talked about her in a language she was not yet fluent.

Thranduil threw his head back and laughed, bringing a hand down to rest on her shoulder. "She is no doubt fearsome in war. Anyone who could command troops for so long with such effectiveness deserves our respect as a fighter. But, like the wood, she has been purified of evil. All we can hope for is to find a way to live in harmony."

Anquale's eyes widened, and she looked towards the face of the king. He was resplendent upon his throne, and she could feel suffocation take a hold of her, the gasp of helplessness fresh in her mind. But it was only memories, only fragments of something she had feared long ago.

No one warns ladies when they have to tolerate rumors and venom from other ladies, when jealousy trumps decorum and they become vipers. A lady must learn from the whispers they hear on the tongues of others, and the accusations others fling at them like mud.

"Carnen told me you're a seductress, that you've corrupted the king and found your way into his mind and bed." Anquale jerked, looking wildly at Thranduil, but he was engrossed in conversation with Legolas and paying her no mind, even less the elleth who had snuck to sit at her side.

"Did she now? Does she think I am to be like Wormtongue, here to infect our king as he did to King Théoden?" She was horrified, but not entirely surprised. "I desire no such things. Peace has freed me from the pain of my subjugation, and I only desire peace."

"You were freed?" The elleth seemed surprised, blinking wide doe eyes at her.

"If I'd had choices in this lifetime, I imagine I might have lived in some far off wood, far from violence. Perhaps I would have befriended the birds and lain in the sun, my hair tangled in the leaves." Anquale's voice was wistful, and she gazed in the distance with eyes that were far away.

"Our king is most forgiving. Life here will be peaceful now," the elleth hesitated, before saying, "I hope you get your sunlight and berries, Lady Anquale."

Peace had come, but still, Anquale felt as if she had sold herself for it like a lamb for slaughter. Dread gripped her mind when she thought the rumors might not be totally unfounded, and her mind ran wild remembering the touch of him on her naked flesh while she was helpless to stop him. It grew when she realized the thought of Thranduil's lustrous face hovered over her cause an unfamiliar wetness between her legs.

The barest touch of fingertips ran down her neck when the music started. It intensified her feelings, to her dismay, and she did her best to remember white knives and the smell of blood. It quelled her feelings, locking them deep into a place she hoped never to explore. 

"And now, we dance."

Anquale gasped as Thranduil pulled her to her feet, making her almost fall into him for balance. He led her to the center of the clearing, and the people parted in waves for them. Fire light made the silver dripping from her ensemble shimmer with glancing lights and colors, and the whole forest seem as if it was glittering with sparks. He looked like the sun, regal and blinding with radiance, and she was the night sky the morning chased, bright with starlight and cloaked with the velvet colors of darkness.

They spun and twirled to the music, harp and flute singing in her ears as innumerable faces whirled before her. But always, he pulled her back in and held her steady before the next flourish in the dance. Black and white snapped in the air around them, smoke and transcendent light, eclipsing each other in turns as their energy threatened to burn the world alongside them.

No one tells a lady how it feels to be beautiful, but Anquale _felt_ it, oh, how she felt it.

\------

_This will be my undoing._

Thranduil couldn't keep his eyes off her as she kept up, without a hint of the earlier stilted awkwardness she'd had in her movements when learning. She looked every bit the part of a conquered villain, forced into the arms of her enemy. Haunting and regal, but completely without claws. As the next song came to a close, he pulled her against him tightly, breathing in the smell of ashes and amber, a scent she couldn't scrub from her skin.

Cold. She was so cold, as if she didn't even have a pulse, in spite of feeling a heartbeat. Something about her caused him to feel a lack of decorum, a distracting urge to give in to some instinct he hadn't felt in centuries. He could feel every part of her acutely, from the muscles in her shifting to the raised lines on her back. 

He could sense their approval, the delight of his subjects. Here was the mistress of the orcs of Sauron, brought to her knees by him, their king. He reveled in it, his victory, resisting the impulse to groan out loud when he felt her breath hot and fast against his gilded chest.

"Am I just another gem for your collection, my lord? A pretty thing to live behind your walls, never to know the taste of wandering freedom?"

"Yes." He was surprised with how forward she was being. "What would you do? Eke out an existence somewhere in the mountains, hope one day I stop searching?"

As the song came to a close, he led her back to the throne, snapping for a servant to refill his glass. Leaning down, he whispered, "There is no place in Middle Earth that I cannot find you. And I would never stop searching, never let you rest, until the paranoia had driven you back."

This seemed to silence her, as he knew it would. He wondered just how unhappy she was in his hall, that she would consider desolation over anything else. The concept of people living without a king was foreign to him, and he couldn't conceptualize trading safety and comfort for something as abstract as whatever she had in mind.

"After war, there are no true happy endings." He breathed in deeply, trying to quell the surge of emotion inside him. "No matter the outcome, someone must bury the bodies, and someone must tell the families why their children will never come home. This is why you will never truly know peace," he paused, grasping her by the hair, "Orcs do not have families to mourn them. Elves do. And those families will always remember you, not as Lady Anquale, but as the dread Lady of Dol Guldur."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two are still at odds, now more than ever now that Anquale has to deal with her will slowly breaking to Thranduil's unrelenting advances. 
> 
> I'm expecting a slightly longer pause before I post the next chapter - it is a subject matter I am not used to writing, so I am determined to do it right. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me this far, and let me know what you think in the comments.


	5. Innocence Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard for me to write. I'm sorry Thranduil stans! It'll all make sense soon.
> 
> This chapter contains sexual violence, and it is not a subject matter I am accustomed to writing in any detail. If you're uncomfortable with it, you can skip towards the end to get an idea of what's happened and where it leaves off.
> 
> There will be a note at the end with translations of the elvish I've included in this chapter.
> 
> Edit: It has come to my attention that not all of my readers understand noncon, or the definition thereof. The following chapter contains non-consensual sexual encounters, described in detail. If this resembles your or anyone else's experiences with sex in real life, please talk to someone, you deserve so much better than that. Do not let anyone tell you there is a right or wrong way to react or feel about what happened. Your emotions are valid.

Amber and ashes. With a hint of pressed flowers. It still hung in the air, as if carried on a breeze. It was this that he'd tracked all the way to the edge of the woods, where an errant wind had carried her scent to him. Thranduil was intoxicated by it, thinking about how she looked that night, a swirl of starlight captured in his embrace.

She looked like a queen, and it was the first time he had seen her holding her head high, with her posture confident. For once, she didn't falter, but stared him down as if it were a challenge.

"I could have ran."

"And yet, here you are, waiting." He responded, curious at her sudden resolve. 

"I do not seek to be hunted just yet, your grace." She didn't flinch when he responded by grabbing her by the waist, his free hand floating just a hair's breath away from her cheek.

"You were right. I am the Lady of Dol Guldur. It's time I acted like it. There is no way to turn me the same as all the elleths who roam this gathering, who study needles and harps. I am a killer, a fighter. It's what I was created for. There is no end to the glory I will bring you if you harness it for your own purposes." She whispered, closing her eyes as his thumb caressed her lips.

Anquale did not resist when he led her back to his chambers. He circled like a hawk, considering the implications of what could happen if he put a sword back in her hands. "Can you teach, Anquale? It would be useful for my soldiers to see the exact ways to exploit the weaknesses of our foes."

"I spent many days and nights training troops. I desire to put my skills to use." It was the first time uncertainty showed in her since the feast, and it intrigued him.

Thranduil paused and patted the lounge, offering her a seat with him as he stretched out. She perched prudishly on the edge, cautiously regarding him, before eventually relaxing back into the cushions and letting out a deep sigh.

"What if they cannot stand learning from me? I've killed their friends. Possibly their loved ones."

"We shall see."

He gazed at her for a long, silent minute, drinking in her beauty. He was weak before her, and he started envisioning the way she looked when bared to him. Her breasts too full for her arms to cover, wavy black hair brushing her hips. It was not enough to wonder what she felt like, tasted like. A wave of urgency crashed over him as he realized he wanted Anquale before him, crying in ecstasy, offering her body to him.

"Are you versed in elven culture, Lady Anquale? Do you know what it means when someone takes you to wife?" He reached to pull at the laces at her side, slowly releasing her from the gilded raiments.

"I have… never laid with anyone. But it is said an elleth would die if she were taken… unwillingly." She replied haltingly, and her whole body began to quake. The elfenking ran a hand through her hair, stopping to rub a few strands between his thumb and forefinger before he answered.

"Yes… it's said that is true. But you said it yourself, you were only an elf once."

The color drained from her face as soon as the words registered.

"We cannot, Thranduil - I have never laid with anyone-" Anquale's sentences of protest were cut short with whimpering moans as he sucked on her neck, nipping lightly with his teeth every so often. Her breasts were heavy in his palms, and he squeezed, feeling her nipples harden under the fabric.

He straightened and hauled her to her feet in one swift motion. Sweat covered her skin in a thin sheen, almost glittering in the moonlight that spilled through the windows. Her eyes, wet with tears, seemed to not have any understanding of what was about to happen to her, and she pulled uselessly in an effort to break away.

"I don't want to be violent with you, Lady of Dol Guldur, but you know I can be. Ever since I saw you on the battlefield, you ensnared me, drew me in with your resolve and fierceness. I'd hoped you would surrender to me, even then." He trailed his lips up her jawline, ending with a deep, hungry kiss. She tasted of fire, hot, singed with charcoal and the aftertaste of ash and smoking flowers.

"You say you have had no other… in all your years… do you not remember I said no harm will come to you? I will be gentle, I promise." Her eyes were wide with shock, and he planted another kiss on her lips.

"Don't weep, _hiril vuin_. This has always been your fate, from the day you dared to make a show of your strength against mine."

\------

Anquale felt numb as he half pushed, half carried her to his bedchamber. Her mind couldn't wrap around why he had waited for so long, why it was only now he was making his feelings known. Hating herself, she also wondered why that mattered when he was about to explore all the parts of her that had for so long been unexplored, untouched by anyone, even herself.

Softly, he undid the remaining laces and hooks that held her clothing together. It fell, whispering to the ground like black mist. Even her hair got worked with, teased out of the braids and jewelry that adorned it until it hung down past her waist in wavy tresses.

In all of her years, never had she imagined it would have been King Thranduil of the Wood, taking her by force after she had gone to his clutches willingly. _I should have slit my throat in Dol Guldur_ , she thought, feeling his free hand run over her body just as he had when looking at her scars.

"Your fate will not be terrible, as my lover. An eternity of tranquility, your only duty to serve me. It is better than being hated." She stilled, and her struggle stopped. She saw her life, outcasted by her own people, despised and feared, hunted forever by an enemy that never tired, never stopped looking for her. 

She laid for him, feeling the weight of his being come to rest beside her in his bed. Thranduil's white-blonde hair tickled her skin as he leaned down, lips ghosting against her nipple before taking it in his mouth. He sucked hard, probing the folds between her legs with his fingers and sliding them into the slick hole so quickly it made her gasp.

Anquale moaned as heat spread from her insides, responding to every slight movement he made. His thumb found the pearl of her clitoris and stroked it in slow circles, sending a quiver up her spine. The fingers stroked somewhere inside, and she was keenly aware of how wet she was getting. 

"You're beautiful like this, Anquale. Wars would be raged if they knew how you looked, stripped of your cold façade and laid bare. _Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen_." He started removing his clothes, flinging them to the corners of the room. Roughly, he lifted her leg up onto his shoulder, bending down to press his lips against her clit. Her hands itched to grab his hair, but instead tangled themselves in the sheets.

The sensation made her breath ragged, shaking in her lungs when he pushed two of his fingers inside her. It was violating, to be seen and touched like this. There was no stopping him though, worse she couldn't even stop herself from responding. The betrayal of her own body disgusted her. She wept, begging him wordlessly to either finish what he had started or release her, she was no longer sure which would be worse.

"I can't promise this won't hurt, but if you relax it'll be over soon." Thranduil reassured her, seeing her panic as he moved to pose over her, and she keened high sounds of distress while trying to roll her hips away from his invasion.

One hand came down on her shoulder, steadying her in place, as he guided himself into her and slowly eased his weight down, leaving bruisingly hard kiss marks on her neck and shoulders. She wanted to scream, but clasped a hand over her mouth instead.

The only thing more humiliating would be if they heard her while he did this. 

There was a sharp tearing deep inside of her, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she listened to him groan with pleasure. 

"Oh, don't cry, shh… _av'osto_."

She lay there limply, feeling him massage the pain deeper, and tried to be anywhere but where she was in that moment. But all that filled her mind was his panting as he thrusted inside of her, grinding his hips so the sensations on her clit wouldn't stop. Eventually, her imagination flitted to when he taught her to dance.

She had been so clumsy, and he was so patient. It was very different from watching him hold court, how he would perch with disdain from his throne, looking down on people with often harsh words of condemnation. It felt out of character for him, yet so formal, like every time they met in a grand ballroom and not in library corners or garden pathways.

He would even sometimes smile when she stumbled, and one day, he even took her to the gardens at midday. "See, Anquale, the sun doesn't bother you anymore. The darkness has truly been purified from you." And she had wept, softly, not even embarrassed when he brushed a thumb over her cheek to catch her tears.

Another surge of pain brought her back to reality, as his thrusts built in intensity. It truly felt as if she might split in two, but he slowed just enough that she wasn't being thrown about so much, if only so he could hold her steady and look into her eyes.

The end built slowly, and she tried to push it from her mind, but she couldn't stop it. _"Velethril.. Ci sui ‘lî erin lam nîn."_ His lips practically caressed her ear as he said it, and her whole body shuddered, like it had wound too tightly and was finally released.

And just like that, it was over. He wiped her legs clean before laying to rest, falling asleep with a hand cradling Anquale's face. Though something in her heart wanted to relax into his embrace and let it carry her to sleep, she laid awake, trembling in the night air.

\------

His sleep was so deep and dreamless he barely stirred when she rose, restlessly ambling about his bedchamber. Hesitantly, as if she knew there would be consequences, she searched his wardrobes, rifling through the silks that had a light aroma of roses and attar. That was when she found it.

Her armor. It was mended, reinforced even, with small plates of mithril in some places. Her mouth hung open as she took it in, burying her face deep in the smell of leather and soot. Had he really done this, prepared it for her? And why?

Answers were few and far between, and she began opening the drawers in his desk, glancing over pages of writing. Every so often she would freeze at the slightest noise, anxious her intrusions would be noticed. There.

_'Melkor was known for stealing souls, and it is not impossible that the same would have been done under the reign of Sauron. Indeed, he was the necromancer, though the only ones who would know the nature of such atrocities are the wizards…'_

Wizards. She knew of two, who had come long ago to Dol Guldur. A grey one, and a brown one. Ignoring the ache inside of her, she slid on her dress, feeling the weight of metal against her frame. It still fit the same, after months, and it was comforting to tighten the straps into their familiar places.

Anquale only glanced back once when she crouched on the windowsill, eyes remorseful. In another life, she mused, things could have been different.

In another life, she was different. Her soul was once not stained with the blood of innocent people, and her heart wasn't unrelentlessly wracked with pain. Perhaps she had once been the kind of elleth who would have been happy with a life like this one, but as it was, she half-hoped the fall would kill her.

The brown wizard. She would find him, and finally have answers, a reason for why her life had turned out how it did.

Anquale jumped, letting the night swallow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Velethril - my love  
> Ci sui ‘lî erin lam nîn - You are like honey on my tongue  
> Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen - You and I shall wed a thousand times on this bed  
> Hiril vuin - my lady  
> Av'osto - Don't be afraid


	6. Wine Barrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took a longer than usual break before writing again. I've been so busy IRL I've barely had the energy! This chapter may seem slower and more "boring" than my others, but I think a breath of fresh air is needed in light of recent events.

The fall was far shorter than many she had been subjected to, and years of experience in the air gave her a smooth landing. Almost immediately, she hid, ducking behind a stone pillar to listen for footsteps. What she hadn't expected was for someone to whirl her around, pinning her against the wall. 

"What are you doing? Do you know what my father will do if he finds you've snuck out?" It was Legolas, who had evidently seen the whole thing. 

"Did you mean to end your life? Why?"

His eyes met hers, a clash of blue and violet, and a look of horror and sorrow dawned his features. So it was true, then. Elves see the truth of matters like what had happened to her, no matter how ugly and wretched it is, or how badly you wish to hide it. He looked so much like his father it made her cringe away, shaking his hands from her shoulders.

"This was… my father's doing." It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. She nodded with a hollow gaze, avoiding looking at him while she began squirming desperately for freedom. He sighed, exasperated, and backed away while wringing his hair in his hands.

"I could help you leave this place, but… walk with me. Do so confidently, and look no one in the eye." He shrugged his cloak off, drawing the hood around her face in a smooth motion. Even this touch made her feel like a horse, spooked by an errant snake, heart pounding.

The arching bridges and long hallways were like a maze to her even still, and it seemed that the longer they walked the more difficult to keep track of where she was. Thranduil had never been one for letting her roam on her own. Finally, he slipped her through a door, quickly closing it behind them. 

"I told you to find drink, not another bloody elf-" Gimli was silenced with a sharp look from Legolas, who turned to face her, leaning against the door frame.

"I found her jumping from a window, intent on getting herself killed trying to leave against the wishes of my father." Legolas spoke calmly, much to the indignation of his comrade, who rose to puff himself up at the elf prince. 

"So you intend to have us both thrown in elf jail with her? Have ya lost yer mind, Legolas?" He roared. "If you're going to yell, let me at least find you a barrel to stand on so we can look each other in the eye." Legolas was trying not to smile, and Gimli, fuming, sat down again.

Sighing deeply, the elf prince drew up a chair, nodding for her to sit. "How do I know this act of treason won't bring more misfortune upon my people? I cannot in good conscience smuggle a war criminal from captivity if she will simply vanish, reappearing a thousand years from now with an army."

Anquale slumped down, curling in on herself like a wounded insect as she did. "I have naught to offer but my word and the promise that I will seek peace." She looked at the both of them a long moment before speaking again.

"I remember once, long ago, a wizard who came to Dol Guldur with the white council. He was small, and brown, with a wizard all in grey. He was from these woods, or somewhere near it. This man knows the truth of me, all of it, and I cannot live in ignorance for an eternity. Can you help me find him?"

"And why would we do that!" Gimli sputtered, and Anquale shrank, avoiding his eyes. The dwarven lord pulled himself together with a disgruntled sigh, shaking his head. "There's something not right here, isn't there, Legolas? Can we in good conscience leave her?"

The two best friends shared a significant look that lasted what felt like a long time. A lot was conveyed in their body language for each other, an intimacy she didn't know two people could have for each other. Finally, Gimli nodded.

"Well we can't very well go gallivanting about the woods with some girl what's not even armed! Do ye know how to wield a sword, lassie?"

She cocked an eyebrow as Legolas stared, bewildered.

"Gimli, did you pay attention at all, or were you too deep in a flagon of ale to care?"

\------

"Do you both honestly think I can fit in this?"

They stood in a semi circle, staring into an empty wine barrel. It had been Gimli's idea, saying something about how it was about time an elf carried on the noble tradition his father had started. 

"Well, we've not got a better idea, an' I'm fer thinking we can't just walk out the door." Gimli looked thoughtful for a moment. "Can we, Legolas?"

"I think not. They'll know she's gone soon enough, and they'll be looking for her. Though they might not notice a dwarf slipping past their knee, a fully grown elf they'd most certainly take notice of."

"Well, it worked for me dad, and he was a bright man." Gimli stated proudly.

Their company was completely different from what Anquale had become accustomed to. They were uninhibited with each other, joyful, even. A stark contrast to the politics and mannerisms of the court, to be sure. It was a welcome distraction from her head, where thoughts swirled that she dared not look at.

"Right, so we've got her in and the lid's twisted on tight. Do we carry it?" After some experimenting, and much ignoring of her protests, they decided to simply roll it down the hallway.

Anquale had a splitting headache from being tumbled like a gear in machinery, and it wasn't lessened by the rough bouncing of being strapped to the back of a trotting horse. Perhaps she had gained more weight than she thought. The metal in her armor didn't used to dig in so sharply when she flexed her muscles, trying in vain to still the chainmail from clinking.

It was such a simple plan that Anquale couldn't believe it had worked so effectively. Her whole body was crushed, protesting the confines of the wood, and she worried at any moment it would burst entirely and she would come tumbling out at their feet.

"If you think you'll lay a hand on my wine, you've got another thing coming, elf! This is a gift from your bloody prince to my people! Haven't you heard of the glittering caves? It'll be spoiled if you crack the seal now! Hands off!"

"Don't mind him, Gimli. They're to be on high alert with the disappearance that occurred last night." Legolas was the saving grace, completely unflappable in both tone and disposition. They must be close to disappearing into the forest if guards were stopping them, she thought.

Yet the jostling motions continued on for quite a while, until finally with a mighty crack she was free to stretch. On her hands and feet, she crawled, keenly aware of the aching inside and out. This was perhaps the weakest she had ever felt, barely even able to stand and reduced to a dizzying mess.

"I feel a bit nauseous." Anquale croaked, grabbing at her sides with a groan. 

"We're far enough away that we can rest for a moment, but they'll be scouting these areas soon enough. Here, is this too heavy for you?" Legolas handed her a long, thin blade, very unlike the sword she used to use, which was only about the size of her arm. This one was half as tall as she was.

It took her a few twirls to get used to how it flowed and weighed in her hands. Anquale had to admit, it was beautiful, with smooth, delicate lines like webbing etched up the hilt and towards the tip. When she laid down to sleep, her hands clenched the hilt tightly, daring someone to take it from her.

\------

Her skin was hot in her dream, slick with sweat and lust. Thranduil's hands were on her, pushing her against the wall and claiming kisses from her lips in hard, crushing movements. Panting, she moved to press against him, arching her back so they were only a breath of space apart. The air was swirling, a horrible mass of shapes and colors that made her head hurt to look at too closely.

"Where did you go, Anquale?" He whispered, morose with eyes that screamed of her betrayal. "Where will I find you?"

She didn't answer, couldn't answer, feeling only confusion and desire as he spun her and lifted the skirt of her dress to stroke her thighs, eventually running a hand up to cup at her sex. It throbbed under his touch, and she cried out as he slid his fingers in. They forced her hips to move in rhythm with his stroking, her face steadied by the cool stone wall it was pressed against.

"Who will know you for what you are, and desire you in spite of it, but me? Who will protect you from what you could become?" She moaned as he spoke, feeling him withdraw to rub at her clit as his other hand gripped her hip. Anquale was shaking now, every slight movement bringing fire to her insides, making her pulsate with desire.

Nothing felt solid, like she was liquid running into the wall she clawed at for something resembling stability. When she felt him inside her, swelling her womb with his length, she gasped. There was _so much_ of him. She felt _so_ much at once, felt his sadness and longing as acutely as if it were her own. It made tears well to her eyes as she grabbed for his hands, wanting to feel solid in his arms in place of the melting she felt away from him.

When Thranduil pulled away, she practically fell at his feet, burying her face in his robes, pleading silently for him not to leave her in the tangle of darkness and foreign sensation that made up the dreamscape. It was unravelling, fading and breaking apart as she grasped for him.

 _"Find me where it all started. At the darkened fortress."_ As she breathed those words, the ground beneath her gave away, and she fell deep into the abyss, screaming.

\------

Waking was a monumental effort, but her companions wouldn't stop shaking her from sleep. "Time to go, Anquale. They're drawing near."

"The king, he was- he was in my dream-" a hand flew to her chest, shaking as she tried to piece together the events of it. What she could grab onto were just bits and pieces, fragments that made her feel both desperately dejected and sickened at the same time. Why hadn't she been in control? What had came over her?

"You share a bond with him now, Lady. It is not unheard of for elves to enter the dreams of their wives." Legolas looked upon her with sympathy. She shook her head frantically, only turning and readying herself for the journey. It was easier to not think of things with such implications, especially in the presence of the elf who so resembled the subject of her dreams.

The three of them walked swiftly, putting as much distance as possible between them and the King's halls. Gimli complained frequently about their lack of need for rest, and the unfair advantage their legs had on his. It almost could have been peaceful if they hadn't been looking over their shoulders the whole time.

"It might be smarter to stop and refuel, right? I mean, we can't keep going at this pace all day and all night-" Gimli was cut off with Legolas's arms thrown in front of him and Anquale both. "Do you hear that?" He narrowed his bright blue eyes suspiciously. 

Anquale nodded. "Orcs. A band of them at least twenty strong."

It wouldn't be long before they were found. The numbers weren't good, and it wasn't ideal to fight so many with there being only three of them. For a long moment, the only sound was birds as they crouched silent and still in the brush.

A decision had to be made. Anquale rose and took long, confident strides, holding her head high and unsheathing her sword. "Has she lost it? Stop her!" Gimli whispered frantically, and she stilled him with a shushed finger on her lips. Breaking free of the tree line, she spotted them.

The orcs were camped in a great number, far more than she had anticipated. At least forty, maybe fifty of them. Snarling and squabbling by the campfires in droves, teeth tearing into morsels of meat barely cooked before greedy mouths beset upon it. The smell made her stomach turn, but she kept walking until one by one they spotted her, circling with rabid motions.

"Has it been so long since you've all descended into savagery that your commander's face is a distant memory?" Anquale called, searching the faces for anyone who might be familiar. Though none stood out to her, theirs brightened dimly with recognition.

"Our dark lady has returned to us!" An Uruk-Hai yelled, and their roar rose like a wave. The barest tingle ran through her back, like a memory, daring her to fan the flames and ignite them. Deep in her flesh, a flutter stirred, waking and longing to break free.


	7. Trail's End

"How have you had two days and found no trace of her?" Thranduil was foaming with anger, but managed to keep his composure. Anquale could be anywhere by now, have gone in any direction. It made him furious to know that letting his guard down had backfired so badly.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. We will redouble our efforts and set out immediately. We've kept it from your subjects, as requested." The king waved the guard away, sighing and massaging his temples. He didn't want to hear of searches and fruitless endeavors to get her back where she belonged.

What he needed was to hear that they'd found her, and his mind itched with the vengeance he would enact for her transgressions. If he had known his son was with her, travelling with a band of orcs, he might have lost all semblance of an even temper.

The last time he had loved someone, the Nazgûl had taken her from him. Now, he had loved a woman taken by the Nazgûl, and she, too, had been ripped from him. Was he truly destined to be alone on his throne for eternity, without anyone to spend it with?

There was only one option. Listen to his dreams, and go to her. Dol Guldur was no short journey, but there was very little to stand in his way. He would cut down any who tried to stop him, and drag her back, no matter what the cost. With sudden rage, he swiped, knocking everything on the desk to the ground in a great clatter.

Anquale would not come easily, that much he knew. So he would ready his sword to clash with hers once more before bringing her to his halls for the last time. He smiled wolfishly, his eyes drawn to the night dress crumpled on the floor. His long fingers plucked it up and he inhaled deeply.

_Ashes and flowers._

\------

"We're almost there, Lady." Legolas held a handful of crushed mint leaves to his nose, constantly inhaling to drown out the stench of the orcs.

"You're going to end up insulting them if you keep doing that, you know." Anquale smirked, raising an eyebrow as Gimli reached over to grab a handful as well. They were riding on the same horse, with Gimli sitting in front of Legolas like a fair maiden with her knight. It was a curious picture, the three of them surrounded by orcs.

The two of them had protested, of course, but she had a valid argument. The orcs would mask their trail, and so long as they didn't leave many footprints and rode horseback, no one would ever know where they were headed. It had taken far less time and far less sneaking.

It had been a long two days, and she was weary of constantly soothing the tension between all of them. If Legolas was right, they had no need for disguise anymore. The brown wizard drew close, and after she had talked to him - well, who knew. One thing was for certain, she was tired of being expected to fight wars.

Turning, Anquale moved to address the troops who looked at her expectantly. "You have fulfilled your last act of loyalty to me as your commander." A shocked murmur ran through the hoard, who thrashed at the statement.

"Do not dwell on the past and stay in this cursed place any longer. The dark lord is dead. Let your loyalties die with him. I have no victories to offer you, no spoils of war. It is long past time you lead your own lives. I release all of you from servitude, effective immediately."

Anquale had expected an uproar over her words, but as Legolas and Gimli watched with quiet fury, they left, some in different directions, some in small groups. It was unsurprising, perhaps, that appealing to their sense of self had worked so effectively. Eventually, only one remained, who kept staring somewhat hopefully at her.

"Look, I told you-"

"Don't wanna go. I like it with you." He grunted, shaking his head. "The others, they're not nice. I'm small. They try an' eat me."

Gimli dismounted with no grace to speak of, tumbling to the ground with a face red with rage.

"Listen, you, I've been far shorter than you my whole life and did I find a way to make it work? I mean look at my best companion, he's almost as tall as you! What privilege, to call yourself small. You're not exactly lacking in muscle, though brains-" Anquale held up a hand to quiet him, sighing deeply.

"I am giving all of you the chance I never had, and I wish you would respect it. What's your name?"

"Hijfelg. No one's ever asked me before. I'm not doin' that, leaving. I don't wanna be alone." He hung his head, stringy black hair framing his dark grey face, and Anquale felt a surge of compassion for this stray fighter. He was lost, abandoned, and just wanted someone to… want him.

Legolas let out a disgusted groan. "First you let our sworn enemies go, and now this? I cannot condone any of these actions." He shook his head, almost sneering with contempt.

"Do you think they wanted this any more than I did? I was fortunate enough to at least know right from wrong. They never had a chance." Anquale hissed, before jumping down. "If you don't want to come with me, fine."

It was only a few paces before she heard footsteps coming after her. "Alright, but ya gotta slow down, lassie. Especially if we're going this part on foot," Gimli panted, "Wouldn't want to miss somethin' this good, anyway. A wizard? Only one I ever knew was a damn coot. Great man, though."

"For the record, I still think everything about this is awful," Legolas sighed, "But who else will protect my dearest of dwarves?" He laughed as Gimli shot him a look.

"Quite capable of defending myself, I'll remind you who won our friendly contest-"

"There!" Anquale gasped, pointing. The hut almost looked like it was shaped from the forest, covered in moss and teeming with good, green energy. It was perhaps a half mile away, but her eyes picked it out easily with stunning accuracy.

"The brown wizard awaits. He knows we're here." She breathed, and broke into a sprint, Hijfelg matching her pace easily as Gimli's angry bellows chased them.

At long last, answers awaited her, no longer fluttering through her fingers like minnows flowing down a river. 

Far away, in a different part of the woods, Thranduil smelled the boards of a wine barrel and looked at a set of tracks. The very faint smell of ash still floated through the trees, calling to him like a bee drawn to nectar.

"I'm coming, _velethril_."

\------

"Will I keep seeing you like this? Every night?" Anquale found herself in a meadow glittering with starlight, with the king weaving braids into her hair almost absentmindedly. She was naked, but it didn't make her startle with fear anymore. There was no more shame for her in front of him, as there was nothing left he could take.

"Maybe you should come back to me and see if it stops." Thranduil brushed a hand down her cheek with surprising tenderness. "I used to do this with my old wife, you know. I learned how to twist and weave her hair because it relaxed her."

She hummed, closing her eyes. It was relaxing. The grass brushed her legs as she curled closer to him, tiny licks of cool dew beading her skin with every movement. The meadow made her uneasy. The proportions of everything were all wrong, and constantly shifting. He was the only thing that was constant.

"You know, I'm not going to be so gentle when I find you. You know that already, don't you?" She nodded at this, and lifted her head to gaze at him. His fingertips brushed her nipples, twirling them until they stood taut and erect. Another hand went between her thighs, confident fingers coaxing a sweet fire from inside of her.

Anquale gasped, tangling her trembling fingers through his luminous hair. If she had known what it felt like to be embraced, to have someone pay attention to what her body wanted, would she have seen him differently? Would she have spent so long fighting and living in desperate fear of him?

Pulling him closer, she turned to bury her face in his chest as he sucked on her neck. The rich scent of incense assaulted her senses, and she jerked back. It smelled real, too real to be created by her dream alone.

"It's really you?" Anquale gasped, tumbling out of his arms and into the whispering grass. Thranduil nodded, reaching to cup her face in his hands. Her musk was still on his fingers, potent and wet, and the dizzying moonlight made their skin glow, almost as if they were melting into each other.

"You can't run from fate, _velethril_. Our fates are bound together, as they have always been."

"I wouldn't have ran if you'd let me… if you'd let me figure out myself… before you started to _ruin_ me." Anquale wept, choking back tears as he caught her wrists and laid her down beneath him. Her hair tumbled wildly, creeping like ivy over the grass as he trailed kisses down her shoulders and over her breasts.

When he moved in her, it was so slow and thorough that she almost begged for something wilder. Her shaking thighs wrapped around his hips, daring him to stop. She was, again, not in control of herself, looking through her eyes like they were windows, unable to stop herself no matter how she screamed inside.

Thranduil wrapped a hand around her throat, fingertips carefully squeezing the sides of her neck as he angled her face towards his, stealing her breath with his lips. He was all need and desire, and she was being tipped over, everything she had to give poured out for him. Gradually, he moved faster and harder, making her legs and breasts bounce in time with his thrusting.

As she dug her nails into his back, Anquale cried out, letting the web of unfamiliar stars above them hear her reluctant ecstasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Velethril = my love
> 
> Sorry for the time skip here! I didn't want a whole chapter of nothing but travel and dialogue, so I took a couple liberties.
> 
> I'm SO EXCITED for ya'll to see all the TEA that gets spilled in the next chapter. It's hot, it's good, and it's answering a lot of questions (and creating some more, probably).


	8. Memories, Ressurected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic violence and smut. You've been warned.

"Something's very strange with you." Anquale woke with a gasp, the memory of the night still fresh on her lips. The grass beneath her head stirred as she sat up, brushing bits of dirt from her clothes. Above her was an absolutely filthy old man, a sharp contrast to the ethereal king of her dream. He was staring, a puzzled knit in his brow as he regarded her.

She lunged to a crouch with her hand already wrapped tightly around her sword-hilt, dirt and foliage crunching beneath her boots as she skidded to a stop. Her eyes narrowed, breathing heavily from the sudden movement and her anxiety. If her sword wasn't so long, she wouldn't have had to roll away so quickly, and she lamented the loss of her flight. "Where are my companions?” Anquale hissed. What have you done to them?"

“They know I’m here.” He replied, shaking his head. “Why, I thought you’d been looking for me. I haven’t done anything, not that I know of. I'm sure they're within shouting distance.”

The brown wizard. Anquale wasn't sure what she had expected of the brown wizard, but this man didn't come close to it. To be fair, she had never seen him up close, only silhouetted from a distance as she floated through the halls of Dol Guldur. He had been a prisoner. A fight had ensued while she was away rallying troops, and the prisoners were gone when she had returned. Weren't wizards supposed to have gilded robes and mighty feats of magic accompanying them?

With difficulty, she cleared her mind and stood, relaxing her grip on her sword as she did. "I need… answers. I don't know who I am." It was the first time she had stated it out loud, and the sharp realization made her want to weep.

With difficulty, she cleared her mind and rose to her feet, relaxing her grip on her sword as she did. "I needed ... answers." The words came slowly to her, and quietly. “Please. I...”

"I don't know ... who I am."

Those words she'd never let slip before; those words now spilled forth from her lips, spilled forth as the stream in the spring-melt, spilled forth and through where her heart dwelt; and crystal sharp was the realisation that brought unshed tears to her throat.

Then the moment passed, and she sighed. “I don’t even know if Anquale is my true name.”

Radagast's eyes were heavy with sorrow as he patted her arm. "I have known you for longer than you think. I have seen you from afar, reduced to a mere shadow of a person yourself. Perhaps now I, too, can finally find some answers."

\------

Hijfelg chose to stand guard outside, complaining that he'd rather be alone and protect everyone than be cramped with his knees against his chest in Radagast's hovel. Within, the shelves were covered in strange herbs and the smell of animal fur was suffocating, distracting her from Radagast's rummaging about.

"Not sure what ya expect to find here, lassie. I think the man might be a bit touched." Gimli whispered, the only one of their party able to stand comfortably.

"Shh!” Anquale whispered back. “Don't say that, have you ever seen a wizard work? How do you know how it's supposed to be?" Beside her, Legolas muffled a chuckle.

"I assure you, the wizard we knew did not operate like this."

Radagast was grinding something together with a mortar and pestle, occasionally adding a dash or pour of something. He muttered to himself frequently, rummaging like a squirrel does in a hidden cache of nuts. The three of them watched cautiously, most of all Anquale. Something inside of her said that whatever was about to happen wouldn't be pleasant. Did she really have to drink it?

"It will help you remember. I won't promise it will be perfect, but you can start looking for clues in the visions it gives you." When the bowl was offered to her, it wasn't as awful as she thought it would be. The concoction swirled sharp and bitter down her throat, but it was mostly an earthy taste, like lemongrass and fresh herbs.

"Legolas, Gimli, I… my head…" she gasped. Almost instantly, her vision was spinning and her mind cloudy.

It wasn't long before she found herself in Mirkwood. Her feet were bleeding and blistered from running, and her lungs choked on poison. It won't be long before I'm found. Her mind was wild with panic and terror, sometimes wondering if it would be easier to just give up. The screech of the Nazgûl burned her ears, forcing Anquale to cover them with a cry.

Something had happened. She was separated, taken away, and was trying to escape. All that she had wanted was to go home, back to her loved ones. Anquale watched through what must have once been her eyes, felt the terror, and her mind swirled with a mixture of thoughts both new and old. 

_This is when I was captured._

Sure enough, soon she was flying through the air, a great blow having landed squarely in her chest. She backed up, pleading, crawling backwards. 'I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please, my husband will be heartbroken… my child…'

So I did have loved ones. I was in love. I was a mother, once, she thought, and quietly mourned the life she may have had. But the Nazgûl cared not for her pleas, twisting it into screams with their skillfully inflicted pain. Anquale screamed internally, willing herself to do something, anything to fight back, but she only watched mutely.

A sword came down, carving the first of a great many scars that she would feel. Tears flowed freely down her face, and she twisted a long lock of silver-blonde hair in her fingers.

_I didn't even look the same as I do now._

\------

_'You are the reason I fight. If I lose you, my heart will always yearn for yours.'_

Who was it, that had said these words to her? It was all Anquale could think of as she wailed into the uncaring, inky black night. Blood flowed in streams down her skin, as it had for days. Her veins were both weak and on fire, her flesh pulsating with magic. These memories were not entirely foreign. They sometimes used to come in flashes and bursts, most often in the times when she would try to resist the orders of her master.

This did not make it any easier to relive. Anquale could feel them undoing her body, ripping it apart at the seams. All at once, her bones and organs were spilling to the stone floor as she came apart. It felt like she was intricate embroidery, and scissors were hacking at the stitches. Soon there will be nothing left of me.

_'I will always love you, my brightest star. Nothing will keep me from you. If I am lost, you will guide me home.'_

The pain was exquisite and inescapable. No one was coming. No one was there to save her. Nothing was going to stop them from slicing and tearing at her body, reducing it bit by bit to nothing.

\------

'Roses and thorns mixed with clover and green, if I am lost then you'll find me in spring… sunshine and rain mixed with farmers sowing seed, if I am gone look to the meadow's sheen…' She was singing to a small bundle in her arms, rocking softly back and forth.

_My baby. Please, I just want to see his face._

But in her memory, she handed the sleeping infant to a maid who had appeared at her side, getting up to comb her hair and hum softly. 'Make sure you don't wake him, it would take a long time to get him settled again.'

_A boy. I had a baby boy._

'I have been looking forward to tonight for a long time. It is long past time both of us had a chance to unwind, and relax in each other's arms. Is he almost here? I miss him when he is gone for so long…'

As if in answer to her question, the door to her room swung open, and she gasped with delight, turning to run into the arms of her lover.

_No._

'My brightest star. Dinenthîr. I was away too long.' Thranduil was leaving soft kisses everywhere - in her hair, on her cheeks, and finally on her lips. 

'Even a day is too long,' She replied, smiling as he took their child in his arms. 'Sometimes when Legolas cries, I think it may be because he misses his father.'

_This isn't right. This wasn't me. Radagast, are you listening? I want out! Free me from your spell! This has to be some kind of trick, some-_

\------

The fog was clearing. Anquale gasped for air like a drowned man, sweating so profusely her skin felt wet. Dinenthîr. The missing wife that was never spoken of, only mourned in cold, lonely silence.

"Ya were screaming! We had to pull you out." Gimli stood worried, Legolas at his side with wide, creased eyebrows. Legolas. My son. She waited for some kind of rush of maternal instinct, a flood of recognition, but only felt a small trickle of sorrow. Sorrow, perhaps, that the grown ellon in front of her she had never gotten the chance to know.

Before her was a prince she had never had the chance to know. Clear, blue eyes and as handsome as his father. She could almost imagine the moments of his growing up. From the stories, people delighted in his presence, and spoke of his wit and unflinching loyalty. Perhaps he had been in love, had dreamed of having his own children. She could have been there, waiting for him to come home a hero of the war and celebrate him. Legolas was a wonderful ellon, someone any mother would have considered a privilege and joy to raise. And yet, Anquale couldn't remember him.

Radagast flew in like a bird, offering a glass of cool water. "What did it show you?"

"I'm listenin', too! Tell us!" Hijfelg egged them on from outside, hastily bursting the door open to lean in eagerly. "What kind of Lady were ya?"

Anquale gulped messily, splashing some of it over her brow. Her tongue felt twisted in her mouth, her throat tight and heavy at the same time.

"In my last vision… I was singing… to you." She hid her face in her hands, unable to make eye contact. "About roses and clover. Sunshine and rain."

The prince's eyes grew wide, as he recited it from memory. "Roses and thorns mixed with clover and green…"

"... if I am lost then you'll find me in spring." She finished, so softly the tune was almost imperceptible. 

"You're what became of my mother."

\------

Anquale stood outside, leaning her face into the rain that had started to mist from the sky. Tears were pouring freely as she took in the emotions that crackled lightning quick in her mind. The delight at seeing her husband melted like hot wax with her tears as he took her in the night, ripping her virginity away. The lightning spread down her arms as she twisted at the metal of her armor, running her fingers down her blade so hard they wept blood.

_I refuse to love him. He took everything from me._

_Sauron took everything. Sauron took the lullabies and love from my life._

The voice was still there, stirring restlessly now that it had been freed. Both her and not her, a voice she knew but that no longer came from her lips. It almost argued with her, making Anquale claw at her temples with hands that trembled like leaves in a gale. 

"So should he call you his mum now? Makes a fella wonder." Gimli greeted her by way of conversation, making Anquale choke out an unexpected laugh. "To be fair, might be a bit awkward, don't ya think? I mean, you're more like a stepmother than anything, methinks." He continued, taking a long pull of a flask that he'd concealed somewhere.

"I cannot bear to think of semantics right now. Have we not had enough drama for one day?" She wiped at her face, sighing, "I know I must go back to where it began. To Dol Guldur. I think… it might help."

"So, we're goin' home?" Hijfelg was looking at her with the same impassive look as he always had, emotions indiscernible under his usual glowering gaze.

"Yes. We're going home, against my better judgement." Anquale tried her best to sound confident, but in her mind, she knew a storm was coming for her.

That night, when they camped under the stars, she rolled about restlessly, finally getting up to walk about. Was it here that the took me? Or there?

Her stroll was interrupted when she spotted Legolas, sitting against a fallen tree. He was sprawled with his face in his hands, but clearly knew she was coming, as he beckoned for her to sit down.

"You know, after I've arrived, you cannot linger with me. Your father will be coming." Anquale groaned, eating down to a criss crossed position next to him.

"Is the fight for my mother's soul not also the fight of her son?" He replied, finally chancing a glance at her.

"And if you think of me as such, then I forbid it."

He finally lifted his head, resting it behind him on the bark with a deep sigh. "The forest was purified, but I do not know if my father will ever be as he was. He has spent a very long time living amongst shadow."

"And you wish to risk the same fate? I'll warn you now, Legolas - the war your father and I fight goes back to before you ever laid hands on a bow, ever spilled blood on the field of battle. It goes back to before I was… this. And the Lady of Dol Guldur has known darkness for a very long time."

\------

"The king will be here shortly, my lady. It was a lovely feast, and a lovelier day for a wedding." The chamber maid bowed and hastened for an exit.

"Oh, I beg you, stop the formalities. You have tended me since the young age of thirty. I'll not have you start calling me titles now."

_No. I'm back in her head. My head. I'm trapped in a memory._

"Of course, as you wish. I would not have dared to presume. Nevertheless, I must not be found present." A warm smile and comforting hand stroked Anquale's - no, Dinenthîr's - cheek.

_I am not her. I am not Dinenthîr. Not anymore._

_You're wrong, lady warrior. You're looking at our memories. Your memory. This was the night you were wedded to your husband for the first time. He wedded you a second time, did he not?_

All Anquale could do was scream inside her mind and thrash, desperately trying to find a way to close her mind's eye to the scene before her.

"Tell me - I would not dare ask another - does it hurt? Do I have anything to fear?" She whispered, almost hoping that her maid wouldn't hear her.

"No, my lady. It might, a bit, but I have no doubt that he will be mindful of you."

_She's wrong. He's horrible. It's awful._

A moment later, and she was alone, left with nothing but the distant sounds of revelers meandering back to their homes. It was soothing to imagine these happy couples and families in the kingdom, and it made her blush to know that hers would soon be one of them. She closed her eyes against the night breeze that caressed her skin, leaning towards the window and sighing deeply.

"You look the picture of a human's idea of a princess, Dinenthîr. Grace and beauty." Startled, she went to turn but already his arms were on either side of her, his torso pressed against her back. He had never been so close, so personal and casual in touching her before, and it made her heart race. 

"Your Grace, I-" he chuckled at the halting start of her sentence, pressing a finger to her lips as he turned her to face him.

"If we are to be married, you can call me by my name."

She scolded herself, almost wanting to laugh at how similar the situation was as it had been with her maid. How could she possibly find herself ready for eternity alongside a ruler if she couldn't even address him by his name in private?

"I beg your forgiveness… Thranduil. To be candid, I am nervous. We have yet to really know each other, and speak openly." She blushed again, and bowed her head. Her name meant "silent face," and she was usually quite good at keeping a mask that betrayed nothing, but the intimacy of the situation was cracking her facade rather quickly.

He swept her into a tight hold, twisting a handful of her white-blond hair in his fingers. "I am sorry. If I have made you feel pressured, or unsure of what your true feelings are, I will harbor no ill will if you leave me tonight. There are many ellons who would fall for the chance to be blessed with such beauty at their side."

_This isn't right. He's not like this._

_Oh, but he is. He has always been our gentle, passionate husband._

She gasped, pressing her fluttering eyes to his chest. It was true, they had barely seen each other during the courtship, and her parents had often reminded her of what a good match it would be. The daughter of a lord, marrying the Elvenking. It made sense. He was always courteous and kind, and she let herself get carried along with it.

_But you didn't love him, did you?..._

_Of course you did. You loved him from the moment you met, when he spotted you in the garden and asked if you would give him the honor of telling him of the flowers you were painting. He told you none of them compared to how the sunlight shone upon your face, like you were a star lost in the rose petals._

"I would not leave you tonight, or ever, Thranduil. I would rather fade away than leave your side."

Slowly, she let him lower her to the bed, let him unlace her dress from her body and leave trails of kisses on each new bit of exposed skin. His fingers wetted themselves between her legs, making her moan out loud and pull him closer. She was woefully uneducated on how two beings laid with each other, but his hot and insistent tugs at her nipples and neck with his mouth awakened some kind of instinct in her.

"I will take care of you, _hiril vuin_. I'll keep you safe at my side, forever." Thranduil murmured, sending a thrill up her spine. "At long last, the brightest star in middle earth is mine."

Dinenthîr almost cried aloud when he slid a finger inside of her, teasing a reaction in slow circles. She fumbled at his pants, finally getting his shaft in her hand to stroke at. He groaned at this, reaching to guide her inexperienced motions. 

_This is our memory. When I was tortured, I made sure to lose them. I locked them deep away, for memories of love and light were too much to bear knowing what I would become._

Thranduil rolled on top of her, leaving feather light kisses down her chest and over her stomach. It was like worship, how he paid careful attention to every inch of her skin, every curve and angle of her body. He twisted a handful of her hair in his hands, arching her head back to nibble softly along her jawline.

_Am I not allowed peace, even in my mind? Am I not allowed a moment of respite from him?_

_Are we not allowed to relish our freedom, to remember the days long gone? The life we had, and lost?_

Anquale felt like she was losing her mind. She could still think, still have autonomy over her thoughts, but the memories were unrelenting. Worst of all, they felt right. It felt so good to have his hands on her, and she felt the intense love that was stirred within her being for him. Whether it was from the influence of Dinenthîr or it was how she really felt, Anquale could not tell.

When he eased into her, the pain was like pricking her finger on a needle, nothing more. Her mind was so blinded by the pleasure everywhere else on her body that she barely felt it. Dinenthîr bucked her hips against him, grinding him deeper with every thrust and push he made.

He caught her breasts in his hand, softly tweaking the nipples with his fingers. She moaned aloud, gasping in high pitched wails of lust. Right when it started to grow unbearable, so hot she was sure she would catch fire, it exploded outward in a rush of heat that made her legs quake.

"No matter what, my darling, I will always love you. My soul yearns for yours." Thranduil murmured, pressing a final heavy kiss to her lips.

_He never stopped loving me. That's why he was drawn to us. Unbearably so. His soul recognized yours from the moment you saw him. Surely you knew it as well, the day you saw him on the battlefield?_

As the scene before her shattered and faded, Anquale knew it to be true. She had been reduced to a trembling waif of herself before him, unable to lift her sword or face him as an enemy. The moment his eyes met hers, her surrender was set in stone.

_He is coming to bring us back to his side. What will we do then, Spider Queen?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've been away from my keyboard for a while! It's been a crazy last few weeks, and it means a lot to me to see that there are still people invested in this work. To be honest I thought it would just kind of die out :)
> 
> It's been hard to write with so little sleep, but I made it work, and I present to you - the next chapter of Anquale's story. I should be writing much more quickly now, so expect an update soon!


	9. Blackened Moonlight

"This used to be my chambers. I cannot recall if any outsiders have ever been this deep in the inner sanctum of the castle before." Anquale quirked an eyebrow at Hijfelg, who was looking about with open curiosity. Certainly, the occasional orc would come to visit, but never elf, wizard, or dwarf.

Running her fingers over the spines of the books that had been found or brought back for her, Anquale leafed through the pages of one at random, gazing on the hasty notes she'd scribbled in the margins. It almost read like a diary when you put them all together. _"First day of spring. There is to be no fighting today. Is spring in Rohan really this beautiful?"_

_Even more glorious are the lands of our love. I long for the forest._

"I cannot recall an account of anyone venturing this deep in the fortress. I believe we are the first." Radagast had been scurrying about, occasionally stopping to pocket a mushroom or admire the eggs in a wayward bird's nest. Wildlife was starting to reclaim the fortress, bit by bit, which seemed to delight the brown wizard.

"Well, we weren't allowed to. Had to stay in the barracks. Or on the guard posts. Don't think they came into the most inner bits 'less you were Nazgûl." Hijfelg grunted, though he, too looked around with curiosity. "Yer tower was high up. Remember you jumping out this window, to fly." He pointed at the large, arched window lining almost an entire quarter of the circular room. 

The burning itch in her back returned as she looked at it, and she felt almost as if the walls were closing in on her the longer she stood there. It was almost as if she feared that at any moment Sauron's grip would crush her once more, reducing her to a mess of pain and pleading. Shuddering, she walked briskly from the room, turning by muscle memory through the dark hallways. Eventually, she found herself in the war room.

It was aptly named - maps were cluttered on the table in heaps, with sharp metal pieces to denote who was who almost as if it was a complicated and bizarre game of chess. The Nazgûl had never needed it, preferring to instead settle things with shows of force, but Anquale had a desire for strategy with her forces.

"It looks a lonely way to have passed the years." Behind her, Legolas was looking at a single glass goblet, still stained with wine but covered in a thick layer of dust. He had been scouring the rooms as if looking for something specific, Anquale was not sure of what. 

"The Nazgûl were not known for being conversationalists." She replied, a wry smile twisting her lips. The room recalled memories of frustrated failure, sure that at any moment her skin would start crawling with razor sharp heat. Yet it also recalled memories of the Nazgûl, ethereal and horrifying, silent and impassive to her impassioned lectures about saving troops and environmental combat advantages.

Though the fortress made her recall many things, they were all her own, and the voice in her head had been mostly silent since she arrived. Every room called upon memories of fear and pain, yet none of them were another's- they were all her own. Frustrated, she grasped a piece of metal from one of the maps so tightly the palm of her hand started bleeding.

"Anquale! Come lookit this!" Hijfelg called, and she perked up curiously, following the sound of his voice from the war room.

"Legolas, find Gimli? I will not tarry long."

Hijfelg was waiting anxiously at the top of the staircase, an anxious furrow in his typically stoic brow. Anquale followed him down the dark, twisted stairs, shivering as they descended into the depths of the dungeon.

On the walls were old bloodstains the color of rust, mementos of the atrocities once committed here. Blurry scenes of her skin being peeled from her flesh flashed before her eyes, the sound of her tendons snapping as they were pulled apart with agonizing slowness faint in her ears.

"What am I looking for, Hijfelg?"

He nodded towards a door in the back of the room, locked with a series of bolts. Whoever was behind it, they had intended to keep them there under an incredible amount of security. Something about it gave Anquale a profound sense of dread and grief. She started shaking her head, backing away. Whatever it was, she didn't want to see it.

"We gots to look, Lady. Who knows what maybe back there, see? We might need to know." The orc crossed his arms, veins rippling as he glowered at the locks. "I don' like it either. But we gotta. I did jus' as many bad things because of this place."

She reached slowly, but the moment her fingers touched the rusted metal, she was practically ripping it open. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once they did, she started screaming.

Steel shackles hung from the ceiling, ugly and crude. Whoever used to wear them was long gone, but Anquale remembered. It came back in a violent barrage, and she wondered how many more were waiting in the shadows of her mind.  
One night, a long time ago, they had dragged an elleth through this door, young and beautiful as daffodils in the spring. She had wild, wavy hair the color of fire light and eyes as bright and green as meadow grass. Even her desperate, pleading wails were as light and fragile as the cries of nightingale, harshened only by her throat failing her as it grew sore.

"She was the only one who didn't hate me." Anquale melted to the ground, her eyes fixated on the spot in the air where her friend used to be suspended while the Nazgûl circled mercilessly.

"I... I cannot remember what became of her. I do not know if she lived or died here. They sought to make themselves queens to fight alongside them the way I did, but it would not work. She would not turn as I had."

"She was, at one point, the greatest love I knew in this place."

\--------

"Shh. Shh. I only came to have you walk with me." Anquale frantically shushed the elleth, who had started to cry the moment Anquale entered the room. It had been too much curiosity to bear, knowing she was here and that they had yet to meet each other. Furthermore, she refused to sit idly by and allow the Nazgûl to simply have their own plans however they pleased. It was her first act of defiance, and it thrilled her.

She reached for the metal that secured her to the walls of the dungeon, unclasping it warily, sneaking looks at the elleth. Her hair was the color of sunlight, golden and brilliant oranges and red, and it obscured her face for the most part. The moment the restraints were undone, she slumped forwards into Anquale's arms, seemingly exhausted. _She smells of ambergris and petrichor._

"Can you even stand? Do you need assistance?" Anquale started pulling her to her feet, sweeping hair from the elleth's eyes. That was when she was struck by how _beautiful_ she was. Even when obviously exhausted and covered in the grime of prison, Anquale felt breathless.

Her rose petal lips arched as she exhaled with relief, leaning into Anquale for support as they traversed the steps up to her chambers. Every step was a challenge, and they sometimes resorted to Anquale picking her up completely in a clumsy hold. Eventually, after what felt like ages of Anquale checking the corners and sometimes using a bit of misdirection on a few soldiers, they made it. The elleth sank into the cushions of her bed, not seeming to care what dangers met her here. Anything was better than the prison, Anquale reasoned.

"What name do you go by? When I awoke here, they called me Anquale."

"Clasali. My name… is Clasali."

Anquale spent days bringing her broths and wine, trying her best to nurse her to strength once more. The Nazgûl had been furious, of course, and an argument had ensued.

"What urgency is there, pray tell? The ring is lost. Lord Sauron has fallen silent. I would fight all of you, one by one, to allow me this respite from your dreadful carrying on."

They relented, which had surprised her. She was prepared for far more retaliation than what she received. However, it allowed her a calm in an endless sea of dark and twisted conspiracy. They brought others to replace Clasali, human and elf alike, but Anquale turned a blind eye and steeled her heart against it. 

_I cannot save them all._

"You have nary even an inkling of where you hail from, nor what you used to be? Not even if you had a lover?" Clasali was always curious about Anquale's origins, despite a repeated lack of insight. Her eyes, which were ever so slightly tilted upwards at the corners, narrowed in an almost playful squint. Anquale resisted the urge to trace the freckles that dotted her cheeks, one of the most intriguing things about her. It was remarkable how quickly her spirits had recovered, being removed from the everyday horror of the fortress.

"None. You have heard it a dozen times already, have you not?" Anquale rolled her eyes, reclining next to her on the bed in a heap. "I have never had even the slightest flash of recognition, no matter how I try."

Clasali eased down onto an elbow next to her, idly twirling a lock of her coal black hair in her fingertips.

"Perhaps your life was not one to remember, then. They may have done you a favor." She bit her lip slightly before continuing. "Anquale, we could leave. Together. You can fight. There are more places than just this fortress in middle earth."

"You would do that, with an elf who once made you cry on sight? I must look more terrifying than my reflection is willing to admit." Anquale smirked, rubbing her fingers over the scars that littered her eyelids like spiderwebs.

"I did not fear you, only the pain that I was sure was coming."

Shaking her head, Anquale put a hand to her friend's cheek.

"You can leave one day, and I will not stop you, but I cannot. The Dark Lord would have me killed for it. Even now, if I were to disobey, his reach would find my body and break it. He still may, when that day comes and you leave here, and I do not interfere."

"Then we find a way to break your curse. We will not rest, and I will not leave you here." Clasali hushed Anquale's noise of protest with a slender finger against her lips. "You are no less a prisoner than I. You may walk freely, yet the grip of the Dark Lord is just as strong upon you. We will find your liberation from him."

\--------

It was a brilliant night, and Anquale was perched on the edge of a watch tower, Clasali cautiously sitting next to her, on the edge of the walls separating them from the ground hundreds of feet below. They had spent months almost exclusively in each other's company, going so far as to sleep next to each other, taking comfort in the rhythms of each other's breathing at night.

"What is flight like?"

Anquale leaned back, letting go of the stone that secured her to the tower, and let herself fall. Halfway down, she felt her wings come to life, and soared towards the moon, closing her eyes to the night breeze that reached for her skin. Distantly, Clasali was yelling for her, and she floated back down, the tips of her toes just barely brushing solid ground.

"It feels like how it must have looked. I never forget that it is part of my curse, yet… it feels like freedom." Anquale reached up, cupping starlight in her hands. "They never waver, never grow tired. I could fly to the undying lands, should I try."

Clasali was gazing up at her with awe, standing to reach a hand up and brush them with her palm before Anquale could stop her. She hissed and withdrew it quickly, staring quizzically at the angry mark it gave her.

"They are made of black breath. Poison." Anquale clarified, taking her hand in her own. "I cannot heal it. In fact, it may scar. I can only cause further pain."

With a sharp abruptness, Clasali yanked her hand to her lips, caressing the back of it with light, velvety touches. "Take me up there with you. Show me."

Without hesitation, Anquale pulled her close, putting Clasali's arms around her shoulders and clenching her own limbs around her waist. They were so close her eyelashes would brush the sun spots on Clasali's face if she leaned in slightly, and Anquale inhaled the deep, watery scent that seemed to cling to her skin.

"You must promise me to hold on, for your life may very well depend on it."

Every muscle in her body flexed, expecting resistance, but her wings took the extra strain with ease. She twisted, bringing them higher and higher, until her cheeks felt the damp mist of clouds on her face. Her eyes poured the color of a midnight river into the bright peridot of Clasali's irises, the clash of a winter's night sky meeting the first leaves of spring. Clasali said they were the same shade as bruised violets, beautiful and slightly wounded.

If you were to look at the moon this exact moment, you would have seen the silhouette of two elleths, embracing, suspended in a haze of blackened mist, penetrated by the infallible beams of moonlight. It would be too far for the human eye to see, but if they could, they would see the moment their lips touched in a desperate kiss filled with longing.

When at long last they touched back to the stone of the fortress, Clasali looked up at Anquale through fluttered eyelashes, smiling shyly.

"You may fight with terrifying abandon, but the truth is, I cannot bring myself to find you frightening. You are the most beautiful creature of the night Middle Earth has ever had the honor of beholding, Anquale."

That night, when they slept, there was no distance between them. Their fingers were tangled in each other's hair, foreheads touching, the picture of serenity among a place that promised nothing but agony.


End file.
